


morning glory

by a_nybodys



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, F/F, Lowercase, Purple Prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27430681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nybodys/pseuds/a_nybodys
Summary: viola's gravity may have vanished with her, but a new one forms anyway.or, dani clayton is not going to let herself forget, not anytime soon.
Relationships: Dani Clayton/Jamie
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	morning glory

as she lay beneath the waves, beneath the fog and, eventually, beneath the sunken mud, dani would sleep. she was left alone, her blonde hair swaying like seaweed, her eyes blank. and every morning, as the sun pierced its way through the fog, through the waves, as the sun warmed the dark mud, dani would wake.

she would wake and walk, hair dripping and lank, sneakers squelching on the hardwood. she tried not to make much mess, but it was unavoidable really. it wasnt like she could take her shoes off. the au pair made a point to visit every little inconsequential room in bly. she would look at every light fixture, every mirror, every piece of furniture covered by thick white cloth, and as she looked, she remembered. there, the little nook hannah would tuck herself away to drink her tea and look at the flowers out the window. here, owen would sing, loudly and without care, into a spatula as he baked pancakes. flora liked to run her tiny hands up and down this curtain, making shapes and writing her name into the plush velvet. miles would run here, giggling like a fool, cheeks creasing with childhood glee. each doorway would send her back into a different memory and, when she reached the attic, she would stand at the top of the stairs and sigh at where it all began. and she would turn and walk away, back down the stairs, back through each doorway, each memory.

there, jamie took her hand for the first time, gently rubbing a calloused and scarred thumb across her knuckles. jamie had winked at her across the hall, over the children’s heads. she had seen jamie the first time there, walking into the kitchen, overalls muddy and hair damp with sweat and yet she was more beautiful than the flowers she so dearly cultivated. every day, dani would go through the motions of bly feeling every emotion, devoting every nook and cranny, every piece of information she had to memory. 

she couldn’t afford to forget.

As the sun would sink below the grounds, painting the drive gold and making the shadows reach toward some unknowable end, dani would make her way out of the glue trap of memories that bly was, and she would drift one more time. it was a long journey, but she took the trip every sunset, opening the front doors to bly and walking into the flower shop.

she would make no mark, her sneakers dry and quiet and her hair fluffed and dry once more, as she walked through her home. she would run an intangible fingertip through the big waxy leaves that jamie prided herself on, stick her hands deep into the potting soil, pretending to feel the damp, marshy earth. and every night, like clockwork, dani would hear the pipes burst to life as a bathtub was filled with water. the running water masked the creaks of the old staircase as dani made her way to her heart. her hands, incorporeal and ethereal would ghost over the picture frames, over jamies beautiful smile. and she would creep through the door, kept open just a crack for her, and there she would be. jamies beautiful freckled face, smushed against her knee, or the arm of the chair, or her hand. the ring, still snugly on her finger, would glint in the moonlight seeping in through the window left unshuttered, and it would find its match again, as dani ran her hand over the same calluses and scars she had memorized with her fingers, her lips, her tongue. she would reach, as jamies hair would fall into her eyes, and try to move her curls, but her hand would breeze through, not even causing a rustle. and there dani would sit, watching the gentle rise and fall of jamies chest, watching the shifting shadows of clouds against the bone white moon illuminate her lovers face, watching the smile that would float onto jamies dozing lips as one dream or another would pass into jamies slumber. and as the first rays of sunlight would pass through the windowpane, and crinkle jamies face with wakefulness, dani would be gone.

and so she would wake to the cold, to the mud, to the water. she would walk through memories, feeling each as vividly as the moment it had first happened. and the au pair would drift, crossing an ocean and more to hear the water running through the rusted pipes, to hear the creaking wood, to hear the breath of her love, to come alive as her gardener would dream. She would bloom every night, under the moon, and each morning she would die anew.

a moonflower indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> hey so none of this probably is coherant but i needed to get something out after rewatching bly manor and sobbing even more than the first time because how could i completely miss danis hand on jamies shoulder the first time?!?!?!


End file.
